She’s killing me here, and I love every second of it.
“Mr. Townsend, are you still there?” The woman on the other end says. “I’m connecting Nashville and Piedmont. Bear with me.”
She sounds like a sweet grandmother type, not that I’ve ever known one of those in real life.
“Yes, I’m still here,” I say into the receiver as the opposite party lines up the conference call.
Bellamy inserts the tip of my cock into her warm mouth, greeting me with her wet tongue.
I melt.
I fucking melt back into my chair.
Her mouth is heaven. “Oh, God…Angel…”
She takes my length, her hand gripping the base lightly. The way she attends to me like I’m some kind of delicacy takes me to a whole other level. Bellamy is a class act. No question. I knew from the moment I saw her.
She stops after a moment, her baby blues gazing up at me as if she needs reassurance.
“Don’t stop, Angel. I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.”
Which will probably be never…
“Dane, you there?” A gruff voice booms into the phone damn near stealing my moment. Thank you, David Bellows in Piedmont. One glance at the gorgeous blonde with her bee-stung lips around my cock brings me right back though.
“I’m here.” I glance at my pewter desk clock and release a harbored breath. “Can we carry on? Everyone connected yet?”
“Yes, we’re all here,” another man says.
“Great,” I say. “Did you receive the preliminary schedule Marlene emailed out yesterday?”
Bellamy pulls me out of her mouth and cocks her head, licking me from a completely different angle. A jolt of electricity zips along my center, and my legs tense. It’s all I can do not to lose myself in this, but I’m the king of self-control, and I decide when I come.
“Yes,” they say in unison.
“Dane, I had a problem with the solar panel systems seminar running the same time as the battery systems.” David sounds like a smoker with a perpetual batch of phlegm in the back of his throat, but I ignore it. “Some of my men attending the conference would like to attend both seminars, and I think you’ll find many others will feel the same way. This schedule isn’t going to work, and you’ll be hard pressed to find a lot of companies sending their best employees out to a highly anticipated and poorly organized convention.”
She inserts the entirety of me into her mouth once again. I could lose myself in the warmth of her mouth.
“I agree,” the guy from Nashville echoes.
“Gentleman.” I force control into my tone. “I can assure you this is the best schedule for the convention. I should know. I organized it myself.”
“But you didn’t take into consideration the fact that–”
“–did either of you take into the consideration that the highly sought after speakers I’ve hired, industry geniuses and revolutionaries I might add, have busy schedules? And that maybe, just maybe, those were the only times we could make those seminars work?” My words bark and bite. “I’m slightly insulted that you would accuse me of chopping some hack job schedule together with no consideration of scheduling conflicts.”
“Dane,” Nashville says. “That’s not what we meant.”
“This is the schedule.” My voice escalates, deeper and faster, and Bellamy’s movements correspond like we’re completely in sync. “This is how it has to be. All lectures will be recorded, and all attendees will be able to take home audio recordings on flash drives. No one will miss a thing.”
My cock electrifies, pressure building up in the base. I’m seconds from erupting, and I fully intend on doing so before one of those numbskulls utters another word and yanks me out of this erotic stupor.
I slam the receiver against the table and grip the sides of my chair as Bellamy licks and sucks and manipulates my throbbing cock with her perfect mouth.
I explode.
Bellamy doesn’t miss a beat. She keeps going until she’s sucked me dry.
“Dane? Dane you still there?” Their voices come through the receiver like they’re millions of miles away. I press the phone back up to my ear, nodding at Bellamy. She rises in one fluid movement and gently wipes the corners of her mouth before sauntering to the bathroom to change.
I haven’t given her permission to change, but there she goes.
I can’t feel my face, and I can hardly feel my body. I don’t feel anything but a potent mix of pleasure and power.
“Still here,” I bark. “Next item. Corporate sponsorships…”
NINE
BELLAMY
I never once swallowed with Cortland.
My hands smooth along the bustier, stopping momentarily to hoist my breasts up. I can’t deny how sexy this thing makes me feel. It’s a power trip disguised in crushed velvet. The girl in the bathroom mirror stares back at me, and I catch her grinning like she carries the biggest secret in the whole world.
Dane’s aftertaste lingers on my tongue. It’s slightly sweet and deliciously sinful. A part of him resides in me now.
Literally.
If that’s not a trust building exercise, I don’t know what is.
I reach back, unzipping the garment and freeing myself. The bones of the corset have left marks across my ribs, but they’ll fade soon enough. A small, reddish bruise just below my collarbone pulls my attention.
My fingertips rake across the spot where Dane kissed me, bit me, then called me his. For some reason, it’s different with him than it ever was with Cortland. He’s opened up this brave new world for me. Despite my initial reservations and skittishness, so far I feel remarkably safe with him.
Shit. I’m safer with Dane than I am with Cortland. At least Dane prefers his conquests in a consensual state of mind.
I slip the panties off and fold everything neatly along the counter before changing back into my skirt and blouse. Delightful soreness claims my swollen lips, and I run my fingertips across them before heading back out.
Dane hangs up the phone the second I emerge, spinning his chair to face me.
“I didn’t give you permission to change yet, Angel.”
I look for a smile or some kind of tell that he’s joking, but I find none. My hand threatens to fly to my mouth, and then I remember what happened yesterday. I’m not supposed to flinch or retreat or so much as hint that I’m afraid of his retributions.
“You disappointed me. How do we resolve this?”
My shoulders pull straight. “You should punish me, Master. I disobeyed you, and I deserve to be punished. Please.”
“Good girl.” He rises, his pants long-since refastened.
There’s a lump in my throat when I realize I never fully appreciated the size and girth of his, ahem, appendage. I was in the moment, focused on pleasuring him as best I could, and it never occurred to me that someday soon, I’m going to be impaled with that monster.
A ball of anxious anticipation resides smack dab in the middle of my chest as he approaches me. His hand lifts to my chin, drawing my face up to meet his gaze. His cold eyes crinkle and relax.
“I’m not sure what I should do with you,” he says. “I’m not sure whether to bend you over my knee or pleasure you until you can hardly stand it anymore.”
I can’t breathe thanks to the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
His hands pull at the fabric of my skirt, lifting it until the hem is against my hips, exposing my panties. His fingers run the length of my inner thigh until he reaches my sex, where he wastes no time slipping a finger beneath the soaked fabric.
This was supposed to be an act. I was supposed to hate every minute of it with an agreeable smile on my face. None of this was supposed to physically turn me on, but my body betrays me with his every touch.
Dane’s finger slips between my folds, massaging my clit with slow circles and just enough pressure to leave me wanting a tiny bit more. Now I know why foreplay is the gateway drug of sex. It’s just enough to get yo
u going, but not enough to leave you fully satisfied.
“How does this feel, Angel?”
My cheek presses against the dark gray silk-blend of his suit jacket, and I breathe him in while his finger slides inside me.
“It feels incredible.” My cheeks blush, but I don’t care. His jacket soaks in the heat, and I’m thankful he can’t see my face. I never spoke this openly with Cortland, and we never discussed what we were doing while we were doing it. There was never dirty talk, only exhilarating shame.
His hand pulls away from my wetness, and I’m certain that is my punishment. He’s teasing me, leaving me wanting more, and then pulling away.
It’s a difficult punishment, but one I have to accept.
“Come over here,” he says motioning to his desk chair. His hands pat his lap. “Face down, Angel. It’s time for your punishment.”
That wasn’t it?
I follow his orders, finding it difficult to swallow as I’m face down, staring at the tightly woven cream carpet beneath his desk. He’s moving around, shifting, opening drawers, but I can’t see any of it. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening. I don’t like being bent over someone’s knee, staring at the carpet fibers with every sense of mine on high alert.
From the corner of my eye, I notice him slipping on a pair of leather driving gloves.
His hand tugs the back of my panties until he pulls them all the way off, and then he lifts my skirt until it’s hiked all the way to my low back.
“Forty,” he says. “Count.”
WHACK!
I haven’t been spanked since I was a little girl. It doesn’t hurt as much as I remember.
“Count, Bellamy. That was one.”
WHACK!
“Two,” I say, my legs splaying out below me as my knees lock.
He smacks my ass once again, only harder this time. Quicker. It’s more of a slap, and it half-stings, half-burns whenever his hand comes up for air.
“Three,” I say.
Again and again he smacks, and again and again I count.
My cheeks are on fire, and a blush of warmth spreads throughout my lower body before settling between my thighs and transforming into liquid arousal. My bare flesh burns after each smack, but by the time it starts to subside for even a split second, I find myself craving another.
Equal parts dread and anticipation fill the space between the smacks.
It hurts.
It hurts so good.
“…thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…forty.” It’s over. I’m not sure how I’m going to sit after this.
Dane peels the glove from his hand and helps me up, positioning me in front of him. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you, Angel.”
I lift an eyebrow.
“I’ve never had a sub make me want to simultaneously punish her and devour her quite like you.” He sighs as if this is the most pressing issue in his life right now. I highly doubt it is. “I think I’m going to have to do both. Climb onto my desk.”
I lean against his polished desk, carefully displacing his pewter clock, his cup of silver bullet pens, and moving his phone out of the way. Dane blows an impatient breath past his lips and lowers himself though he’s certainly not on his knees.
“Exquisite. Really.” His final words send a thrill up and down my spine seconds before his tongue glides into my most tender parts, swirling and licking, owning me deeper and harder with each flick.
I look for something to grab, something to ground me, but there’s nothing but cool, smooth wood and a fourteen karat gold stapler. His tongue abandons me for a moment, skimming my thighs before returning.
Tease.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Angel?” he asks.
I want to tell him not to stop, to keep going. I was getting close. But I can’t say any of that because he’s in control. Even if I wanted to come right now, it isn’t allowed.
My arousal begins to mix with anger, and without warning Cortland’s face flashes in my mind.
No!!
His hands press my legs apart wider, and his face between my thighs and that thing he’s doing with his tongue and the circles makes my body fearful of moving for fear it all might end.
I love this.
But I also hate that being objectified and controlled, the very thing I’m fleeing from at home gets me so hot and bothered I can hardly stand it.
“You can come now,” he says, blowing hot breath on my swollen sex before returning to devour me a final moment.
But it’s too late.
I’ve lost it.
The build up threatened to leave the second I realized I wasn’t allowed to come without his permission, and it packed its bags the second I saw Cortland’s face and started thinking about everything else.
What do I do?!
I draw in a full breath and do what any other woman would do in my situation.
I fake it.
“Mm, yes…” I moan softly, pounding my fist against the desktop. My hips buck and writhe, and he gives my clit a final suck before my movements settle and stop. I have no idea how long a typical orgasm lasts. I’ve never timed myself, so I just do what feels natural.
My eyes search his when he comes up for air, and I immediately love the fact that he doesn’t wear a dopey smile after getting some. He’s a man. He’s all man. He can pleasure a woman with dignity and respect and class, and that’s an art.
“You may clean up now, Angel.” He nods toward the bathroom before swiping the ground and picking up my crumpled panties.
“Thank you.”
Dane leans over his desk, grabbing the satin ribbon off the box in which my lingerie was packaged. He winds it up and shoves it in his desk drawer, a treat for another time I suppose.
I scamper off and change quickly, anxious to ask him what else I might be doing to occupy my time in the office, but when I emerge he’s nowhere to be found. His communication leaves much to be desired, but I’m not exactly in a position to complain.
When I slink back into my office, I’m overwhelmed once again by the amount of boxes and gifts and bags filling every foot of my space. There’s a small path in which I can walk, but that’s it. A small coat closet in the back of my room boasts wooden hangers, and I get to work hanging up my new wardrobe. There’s no way my parents will let me walk in or out of the house in any of this stuff. I might be able to sneak a dress in with my purse, but not the rest of this stuff.
“Chanel.” I examine the tags of a pink blazer and shake my head, fighting a smile. “He’s out of his mind. Certifiably insane. Yep.”
I remove tissue paper from a Gucci box and examine the candy apple red bag that emerges. The hardware is heavy and solid, and the zippers run smooth.
“Dane,” I whisper, loving the way his name feels when I say it. I wish I could say it more. Calling him Master feels contrived and awkward. Silly.
I yank out a Fendi belt and slip it around my waist.
Perfect.
I am an actress, and this is a role I’m playing. I can be this girl. I can be the girl who wears fancy things and graces his presence like I’m some elegant socialite.
With an armful of things that cost more than what my father makes in one year, I head over to the closet and carefully unload. A small ledge below a mirror will house the cosmetics he provided.
I’m not a girl who normally wears much makeup, but I know my way around a makeup kit, especially for special occasions.
As soon as everything is properly stowed, I fold up the boxes and bags and tuck them all into one another. I assume he’ll want all of this back when he’s done with me.
I am an actress. This is my part. These are my costumes.
It’s that simple.
***
My check engine light comes on halfway through my commute home and a burning odor wafts through my air vents. I’m not sure why Waverly got the shiny new Jetta, and I got stuck with the family’s old Chrysler, but I figured this was going to happen one of
these days.
I buzz past a green sign that tells me Whispering Hills is twenty-three miles from here. My palms sweat against the steering wheel as my mind dithers. If I pull over and call my father to get me, he’ll wonder where I got my phone. If I drive with this light on and something goes wrong mechanically, I’m not sure my father will pay to fix or replace my car. Money’s tight at home. I heard him saying so the other night to Mom.
But without a car, I won’t have a way to get to Salt Lake City, and I’ll lose my position with Dane.
Wisps of pale smoke escape the front of my hood and graze over my windshield.
I can’t win. Ever.
I smack my hazard light buttons and pull over to a nearby rest stop. One nickel, two dimes and a penny are all I see in my cup holder, so I climb out and begin feeling around between seat cushions and under floor mats until I find two more quarters.
There’s a payphone inside. I’ll use that to call Dad and go from there. I still haven’t quite figured out how to tell him I have a cell phone for work. I’ll get around to it, but I’m not ready yet. If he takes it away, I’m not sure how I’ll explain to Dane that I won’t be reachable 24/7 like he requires.
Shit.
My toes pinch as I walk, reminding me that I’m still wearing the Christian Louboutin heels I’d slipped into per Dane’s request earlier. I changed into a little black dress by some designer I couldn’t pronounce and pranced around in these bad boys the rest of the afternoon. Before I left, I changed back into my old outfit but forgot to switch shoes.
Hopefully, no one at home will notice. I doubt any of them have ever heard of red-bottomed shoes, and I can always say they’re from Target. No one will question me because the truth would seem more preposterous than a lie.
I slip some coins into the phone and dial my dad’s number.
“Mark Miller,” he answers halfway through the first ring. For someone so anti-cell phones, he’s got that thing glued to his hand most of the time.
“Dad, it’s me,” I say.
“Bellamy?”
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